tuesday morning, car
horns are squeezing
headlights into the fog
of that last treasured
moment before the
alarm goes off. in
pairs, each bright
bulb bobs
and grows, like
winter solstice’s
rice balls floating
in sweet,
gingery broth,
beckoning for a
bite that awakens
black sesame,
and finally, all
the remaining
senses
.
20130115:0836
y